


Holy Words

by aron_kristina



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aron_kristina/pseuds/aron_kristina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brutha is not trusted to write about his journeys with Om and Om can't resist poking Brutha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penitence_road](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penitence_road/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> This sort of turned into a look at Brutha's relationship with Om after the book, which I'm sure I didn't plan to write at the beginning. Oh, well :p Hope you like it!

_**”And thus Brutha, the eighth prophet, commanded the skies and the sea fell silent...”** _

”That's not actually what happened,” Brutha said mildly, or as mildly as he could in the circumstances, which were trying indeed, and therefore he felt that not being at his absolute mildest could be excused.

”Will you be quiet and let me read?”

Brutha sighed. ”Go on.”

_**”...commanded the skies and the sea fell silent, yea, for he was mighty in his belief, and as such the Great God Om was moved to help him.”** _

Brutha fidgeted uncomfortably on his chair. It was, of course, a very nice chair, perfectly comfortable as befits a prophet, and still, Brutha could not seem to find a way of sitting that didn't cause him discomfort in some way.

”Do we really need all the 'yea's and 'lo's?” Brutha asked.

”Oh yes, lord,” the scribe answered (Was he a bishop? Novice? Brutha had no idea, he'd just been assigned someone to help him write).

At the same time Brutha heard a voice inside his head: _I. Shows it's the proper stuff._ And lo, the Great God Om spoke.

 _”What do you mean, proper stuff?”_ Brutha asked. Well, thought, inside of his head. Om's hearing had gotten much better now that he had more than one real believer again.

_II. It can't just say 'and then Brutha was going to be sacrificed to the sea but Om, who was at that time a small tortoise, had made a bargain with the Queen of the Sea, which incidentally led to the destruction of another Omnian ship, but that one was full of soldiers, so it doesn't really matter, anyway, Om made this deal because he didn't have any power at that point, but it all worked out alright in the end, didn't it?'_

“You never told me that!” Brutha said, out loud.

“Sorry, Lord?” the priest said.

“No, I'm sorry,” said Brutha. “Just...”

_III. Conversing with God._

“...thinking out loud.”

_IV. Hah!_

“Oh,” said the priest. “Well, in that case, I can come back later...”

“No,” said Brutha. “Best get it over with.”

 _“Were have you been?”_ he thought to Om.

_V. Around and about. Seeing things. Seeing to things, Om said. Why is the journey to Ephebe being written down and why aren't you doing it yourself?_

_“Because every time I try they say I'm too humble and that they need the real account of what happened,”_ Brutha thought sourly. _“It's like Vorbis and his fundamental truth.”_

_VI. Something like that, I expect. Look, cheer up! I didn't stop to listen to my prophet whine._

_“Why did you, then?”_

_VII. Well..._ Om said, and hesitated. Brutha said nothing, made his mind silent. _VIII. If you must know, I'm bored. I'm not supposed to talk to anyone, not supposed to smite them, not even supposed to make sure people are struck by lightning._

 _“It wasn't my idea,”_ Brutha thought.

_IX. And I suppose it's not your fault people don't sacrifice properly either._

_“Look, did you come to discuss theology or be entertained?”_ Brutha thought. The scribe was working hard now, presumably stuck by some mad inspiration, or possibly wanting to get as much as possible done when the Cenobiarch wasn't demanding he read the last passage aloud and then complained it was written wrong.

_X. I watched some people copulating. It was boring. Did we really say a hundred years?_

_“Yes, we did.”_

_XI. Are you sure it hasn't been a hundred years yet? It seems like so long._

_“I'm very sure. What are the other gods doing then?”_ Brutha asked, trying to take Om's mind off, well, just trying to take it off things in general. To tell the truth he was bored too, but that was because he had to get this thing written so he couldn't do any proper work, or even see to it that the beans and melons were growing as they should.

 _XII. You don't want to know_ , Om said gloomily.

 _“Well, you can always turn into a tortoise again,”_ Brutha thought. _“That was a life of excitement, wasn't it?”_

_XIII. Bite me._

_“You know, people were always telling me there was good eating on tortoises, but I've never tried. Perhaps it's time now.”_

_XIV. Alright, yes, I'll just leave you to your important business then._

“Lord?” said the scribe. Brutha didn't react at all.

_“You do that,” Brutha thought. “Drop in anytime.”_

_XV. Oh, think you're clever, do you?_

“Lord, I'm finished.”

 _“Not really,”_ Brutha thought. _“Just cleverer than some people.”_

_XVI. Well, if you're going to be like that I might as well go back to Cori Celesti._

“Do you want me to read it?” the scribe asked, a bit timidly.

_“Say hi to the penguin from me.”_

“I'll just pack up and go then, shall I, Lord?” said the scribe.

_XVII. It bites._

_“Really? It hasn't got any teeth.”_

_XVIII. I have bruises!_ Om said emphatically.

 _“Can you even get them? What with being a god and all,”_ Brutha asked.

“I'll take the scroll with me to be copied. If that's all then I'll be going,” the scribe said. He was secretly very glad to be going. The Cenobiarch was a great man, of course, but a bit strange. Like the way he tended to lapse into silence sometimes.

“Yes, alright,” Brutha said absentmindedly, waving a hand at the scribe.

_XIX. Metaphorical bruises. They were very impressive._

_“I'm sure. Look, why are you really here?”_ Brutha asked.

_XX. Can't a god look in on his prophet?_

_“I suppose he can, but you don't, mostly,“_ Brutha said. _“Not unless you want something, even if I have to drag it out of you.”_

_XXI. OK, so I heard from, well, never mind where, that there are strange things happening in Klatch._

_“There are always strange things happening in Klatch.”_

_XXII. Fine, be like that. Just don't ask for my help when the Klatchian foreign legion marches in here and kills you for reasons they can't remember._

_“I'll look into it,”_ Brutha said.

_XXIII. I command you to do it!_

Suddenly there was a different silence, one that Brutha had learned to recognize as Om not being around. He really was bad at not interfering, though as far as Brutha knew he only interfered with Brutha. If he was honest with himself he'd probably miss it if the god suddenly went silent.

Brutha looked around. The scribe had left. Well, it was probably for the best, or at least not so bad that he felt like fighting too much on it. He changed into his work robes and went out to the gardens to check on the beans.


End file.
